and does not think it is the Prince's own ; no more do I, it is too good: but make my compliments of thanks to him ; he shall have his buckles the first opportunity I find of sending them. Say a thousand things for me to dear Mr. Chute, till I can say them next post for myself; till then, adieu. Yours ever. 44. To HORACE MANN. London, Oct. 13, 1741. [The greatest part of this letter is wanting1.] . . . THE Town will come to town, and then one shall know something. Sir Kobert is quite recovered. Lady Pomfret I saw last night: Lady Sophia has been ill with a cold ; her head is to be dressed French, and her body English, for which I am sorry, her figure is so fine in a robe: she is full as sorry as I am. Their trunks are not arrived yet, so they have not made their appearance. My Lady told me, a little out of humour, that Uguccioni2 wrote her word, that you said her things could not be sent away yet: I understood from you, that very wisely, you would have nothing to do about them, so made no answer. The Parliament meets the fifteenth of November. . . . Amorevoli has been with me two hours this evening ; he is in panics about the first night, which is the next after the birthday. I have taken a master, not to forget my Italian—don't it look like returning to Florence?—some time or other! Good night. Yours ever and ever, my dear child. Sir Bobert Walpole, and fallen into contempt and obscurity by his own extravagance and insufficiency.' (Memoirs of George IX, ed. 1822. vol. i. p. 160.) LBTTBR 44.—* In Horace Wai-pole's handwriting. 2 A Florentine nobleman.